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Offline Femuita

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[EN / Samuel Clemens] - The toughest match
« il: 29 Gennaio 2012, 03:05:10 »
I agreed reluctantly to go to a neighbor’s annual pool party and barbeque.  Don’t misunderstand I have nothing against swimming pools, I’ve had by own for twenty years.  And I certainly have nothing against barbeques.  Some things definitely taste better on the grill.  In fact, pool parties in our neighborhood have some appeal since most of the women are in great shape (you would be too if you went to the gym five days a week, had a personal trainer and focused more on your shape than on anything else but now I’m sounding chippy.)

The fact is that this particular neighbor has pool parties every five or six weeks so this is not a simple, once a year, event.  And his wife is not happy unless there are constant competitions.  What’s wrong with chilling out and drinking a few cold beers?  Nothing, except with Monica. 

But, to keep peace in the family and harmony in the neighborhood, I agreed to go.  Now, some might point out that I am not in swimsuit shape.  I know it. I don’t go to the gym five times a week. I work.  I travel on business.  In fact, I’ve gone to the gym five times – in the last year.  I was an athlete in my younger days and I don’t relate well to this slightly tubby fellow that faces me in the mirror every day.  But I went.  I drifted to the bar, got a drink and joined my usual cadre of golfing buddies to talk, avoid the water and ogle the women in bikinis. 

We managed to avoid most of the fray including the annual pool volleyball and pool basketball games.  It was fun to watch the bikini-clad women jump around in the water but we stayed dry.  Later, as the crowd thinned good old Monica did her best to keep the competition going.  The teenagers eventually got into arm-wrestling matches.  Some of the girls were pretty good but these girls were training to stay lean and not many had any serious muscle.  Then a few of the mothers got involved.  Monica leads the league in personal training sessions and is proud of her strength.  Inevitably she challenged a couple of the 16-year-old boys to armwrestle.  The boys eagerly accepted her challenge and won.

We lost interest and were drinking and talking when we heard the girls start to get loud.  One of the “Moms” had beaten a 16 or 17-year-old boy in arm-wrestling.  A few minutes later Monica stood over our little group.  We were all dry and nicely buzzed after five or six hours of sun and drinks.  Monica looked pumped after a day of sports.  She surveyed us with a somewhat disgusted smirk.  “I hate to say it but Tony you are in the best shape of this sad group.”

“I am?” I replied hoping she would go away.  On at least one occasion in the past Monica had arranged some ‘battle of the sexes’ that would have been fun accept none of our women are into strength and none of the men are built for endurance.  I sure wasn’t up for any relay races now.

“Yes, and that is sad,” she said adding “but I bet she can take you.”

“Sure,” I said.  My good friends were now egging Monica on. 

“She is killing us all in the gym Tony,” Monica said referring to the blonde in a yellow bikini. “I bet she can take you arm-wrestling.”

With that Monica grabbed by bicep and crushed it.  Monica seemed a lot stronger.  “Oh, man. You can take him easily,” she said to the blonde who was now flexing her right arm.

“She beat Eddie and Steve easy Mr. Amarone,” one of the teens informed me helpfully.  Eddie and Steve were too athletically built young men.  Both were sitting together sheepishly and if they had let the woman best them, something not typical for boys their age particularly in front of young females, they didn’t act like it now.

Ignoring Monica is never easy and today she was not to be denied so I found myself seated at a table across from the athletic blonde.  Now it takes a special kind of guy to look at this woman and think of anything so unfeminine as arm-wrestling.  She is beautiful. She has lustrous blonde hair that falls below her shoulders.  Her outstanding, natural breasts spilled over the top of her bikini – a bikini that teenagers would love to wear the way this woman did and she was not a teenager.  Her shoulders were athletic and her belly barely rippled as she sat cross-legged at the table.  I took in the long shapely legs.  As I sat she looked at me and smiled.  “So you are letting Monica do this?” she said with a laugh.

“I am,” I said.  She flexed her arm for all to see. “I have been working out a lot Tony if you hadn’t noticed.”  I had noticed the lean, hard body. She was almost 5-6 and weighed about 135 pounds.  The curves were all in the right places, as they say, and she was definitely athletic looking.  I had at least 50 pounds on her but I was not exactly chiseled.

I was the only one not laughing.  “I see,” I replied.

“And I won’t let you win,” she added as we took our grip.

“She beat Eddie in about 10 seconds,” one of the girls informed me.

“So ten seconds is the time to beat?” I asked trying to sound confident. But her grip was strong and she worked into my hand like she had done this before.

“You done this before it seems,” I said to my opponent.

“At the gym. Ellen has use do it to test our arm strength I guess,” she replied.  Ellen was her current trainer.

We got set she stared at me with her blue eyes wide and innocent.  I looked down.  She laughed and said,  “Don’t get distracted Tony,” noting that my eyes were now directed at her incredible cleavage.  “I am stronger than you think.”

I looked up as someone counted down from 3 to start the match.

I didn’t give it everything but was amazed at the fact that I did not budge her arm. I increased the intensity but after 15 seconds we were locked in a neutral position.  She looked perfectly calm smiling slightly.  “At least you’re doing better than the boys,” another woman added helpfully.  The blonde agreed but didn’t seem to be straining at all and I was starting to feel some cramping.

I tried to twist her hand and actually gained and inch or two.  Now, I could beat her I thought to myself as my breath came out in little bursts.  She shifted her body slightly though and pulled back to an even position.  “Getting tired?” she asked.  Her voice showed no strain. 

“No,” I grunted. “Are you?”

“Bored maybe,” she said looking at Monica.

“Come on Gail. Go girl, time to win this,” Monica said urging her on.

I strained to hold her.  I felt her arm ease and it felt like I was gaining an advantage.  I let out a breath and as soon as I did she rocked back forward and moved my arm half way to the table before I checked her.

“You got him Gail,” the woman yelled.  My eyes were closed with strain so I didn’t see the reaction of my friends who were probably hiding.

I managed to regain some position and felt her ease up again.  “Didn’t quite have it,” I commented trying to sound strong.

“Is that it?” she asked as again I felt like I was gaining.  But the feeling was short lived as she rocked and moved hard again putting her upper body behind her arm.  My hand twisted open, and in an instant I knew that wasn’t good and that I was in trouble.  My arm moved half way down and this time I couldn’t check her.  I was spent.  She kept the pressure on and a second later thumped my hand to the table.

The women were cheering her on.  My arm was sore.  She stood, leaned over the table and gave me a little pat on the arm and a light kiss.  “Might be time to get back to the gym, hon,” she said sympathetically.  “Now let’s go home.”

I got up to face an evening at home with my wife, who had just beaten me soundly.

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